


Sharp Dressed Man

by abstractconcept



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Flirting, HP: EWE, Humor, M/M, Romance, Snark, fashion - Freeform, foodplay, snarry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-18
Updated: 2017-03-18
Packaged: 2018-10-07 00:38:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10348425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abstractconcept/pseuds/abstractconcept
Summary: Based on the prompt: cotton candy/faerie floss. Romance/Humor. Snape guides Harry through the murky waters of Wizarding society’s fashions.





	

**Author's Note:**

> A ficlet for meshell_mybell.

“Ah, Mr. Potter. Only you could spend a fortune on an outfit and come out looking like a rather posh scarecrow.”

 

Harry turned, his surprised look quickly morphing into a scowl. “I do not!” he protested, trying to flatten his scruffy hair. “Anyway, if I’m a scarecrow, then you’re a malnourished bat.”

 

“Very original,” the man sniffed. Actually, he looked far better than Harry cared to admit—his robes were cut well, showing off his slim figure, and he carried himself with such powerful poise that it was hard to find fault with his appearance, although his hair was still lank, and his nose still large.

 

The man swanned past Harry and shook the Minister’s hand somewhat disdainfully. “Severus, delightful to see you,” the man said. Snape’s haughty look said that he was well aware of that. “And our other war hero, as well! Mr. Potter, how kind of you to drop by our little to-do.” He shook Harry’s hand enthusiastically as the cameras popped all around them.

 

“How do you sodding _do_ that?” Harry hissed, once the Minister had moved on.

 

“Do what?”

 

“Do—that thing! Where you billow by someone and then you tilt your head or look down your nose and you look all—all—” Harry groped for words, at a loss.

 

“ _Not_ intolerably awkward and clumsy?” Snape replied.

 

Harry’s scowl deepened. “Shut up. You look like…” he trailed off helplessly. ‘A bloody hot Wizard-about-town’ seemed so _out of place_ describing someone like Snape! The man really _did_ look awfully good, though, fit and contemptuous, as though he’d been taking lessons from Malfoy. Maybe he _had._ Harry never _did_ find out what they’d been doing during that bit of the war, although they’d destroyed at least one Horcrux before Harry could get to it. In any case, the expression and clothes Snape wore looked _magnificent_ on him, and Harry was finding it hard to claim ignorance. Thank goodness his own robes were, for some reason, a couple of sizes too big once more. “You look like…” he tried again.

 

“Like a fashion plate? The epitome of style and elegance? I know it.”

 

Harry blinked. Apparently, Snape had been taking lessons from Malfoy in snobbery as well.

 

“This is because I know _how_ to wear the clothes, Mr. Potter, _which_ clothes to wear, and _when_ to wear them.”

 

“Oh,” said Harry. He eyed the man enviously. How was it that Harry Potter, rich, respected, and recently out of the closet, couldn’t put an outfit together to save his life, while Severus Snape, poor (as far as Harry knew), completely disrespectable (which gave him such a forbidden allure) and straight (again as far as Harry knew, though he found himself fervently wishing otherwise) looked like he’d come straight off a catwalk? It was bloody unfair!

 

“I could give you lessons, if you like,” the man offered disingenuously. “Though you always were a rotten pupil.”

 

Just to shock the man, Harry gave him a sweet smile. “When can we start?”

 

Not to be outdone, Snape replied, “Meet me Saturday at noon outside of _Charmed Couture_. I trust you know the place?”

 

Harry gulped. He’d never been—he was one of the richest bachelors he knew, and he _still_ considered it too rich for his blood. “I’ll be there,” he retorted, sweating as the man smirked and flapped away.

 

What had he gotten himself into?

 

OoOoOoOoO

 

“You don’t need to swim in your clothes, for starters,” Snape said, eyeing Harry critically. He pulled at the swathes of loose fabric, drawing them tight around him.

 

“I can’t breathe,” Harry complained.

 

“If you can breathe, it isn’t chic,” Snape replied smugly, but he played a bit more cloth through his fingers, and Harry’s chest was able to expand more comfortably. “The extra fabric should do something _besides_ hiding your body—you’re a perfectly attractive young man, not an overweight forty-year-old woman with something to hide—like something trailing from the elbows, or a nice cape.”

 

Harry grunted, glancing down at himself. Had Snape just called him _attractive?_

 

“Next, invest the time in casting anti-wrinkle charms before you go out. That rumpled, ‘I just fell out of bed and what am I doing here?’ look is _not on._ ”

 

“Er, check,” Harry said agreeably. It really wasn’t going as badly as it might have done. He was actually learning something, and he got to spend some time with Snape—who, he might add, had really lightened up since Voldemort’s death. “What colours should I choose?”

 

Snape eyes narrowed, looking either insulted or just very thoughtful. Harry nervously made sure his wand was at hand, just in case. “You can never go wrong with black,” he said eventually.

 

“Black? But you never wear anything _but_ black,” Harry replied, disgruntled. “It’s kind of boring. Why don’t you ever try some royal blue, or some purple or something? Shake things up a bit,” he suggested.

 

“Heaven save me from garish clowns passing themselves off as wizards,” Snape grumbled. “I should have known it was only a matter of time; you’ve followed Albus’ lead quite happily in everything else. It’ll be spangles next, won’t it?”

 

Harry laughed. “I don’t think I’m that bad! And what’s wrong with a bit of colour?”

 

The man sighed as though he were suffering. “Well…I could see you in pink. You’ve got the right skin tone for it.”

 

“Pink!?” Harry was outraged. “I’m not wearing pink!”

 

“You wanted colour! I gave you an option! If there’s nothing wrong with colour, then there’s nothing wrong with pink!”

 

“Fine, fine, forget about colour,” Harry said, disgruntled.

 

They moved on to cut, stance, walk, and even facial expression. Harry knew he would never master the cool flicking glance Snape had perfected, nor the smug expression, and he doubted he’d ever billow without tripping over everything that was billowing, but he thought he might be able to do the thing with his eyebrow. He practiced in the mirror while Snape chose fabrics and argued with the tailor.

 

Eventually, they left, armed with several boxes of merchandise. “So…er…how much do I owe you?” Harry asked as they stood uncomfortably outside the shop.

 

“Did you think we were _finished?_ ” the man replied in mock surprise. “We’ve hardly started. Next week, you take me to lunch, and we discuss _which_ outfits are worn _where_. Is that understood?”

 

Harry, suddenly and inexplicably pleased at the prospect of another day with Snape, grinned widely. “Don’t know if I’ll be able to grasp that,” he said. “Sounds hard.”

 

“For someone who devoted all spare thought during his upbringing to chasing a little golden ball around the stratosphere, it may well indeed be a challenge,” Snape retorted. “We’ll just have to beat it into your head over several lessons,” he added with feigned nonchalance. Harry could tell he was looking forward to it, too.

 

The thought gave Harry a thrill of anticipation. “All right, then,” he said. “Indian okay?”

 

Snape hesitated before nodding. “That would be acceptable.”

 

Harry gave him a wicked smile and a wink just before Apparating and said, “It’s a date!”

 

OoOoOoOoO

 

“These _aren’t dates,_ Potter. They are appointments founded on the premise of forcing some knowledge of good taste into your being, which is more than likely a losing cause.”

 

“And yet you show up for them anyway,” Harry replied smugly, wiping his mouth with his napkin. “If you meet someone despite the fact that the goal of the meeting is unattainable, I say you must rather like that person. If you go out with a person because you like them, it’s a date.”

 

“Your logic is vaguely circular and highly disturbing. It explains a great deal about your grades.”

 

“Admit it; you’re enjoying yourself.”

 

“I always enjoy ridiculing a particularly easy target.”

 

“There you go, then,” Harry responded, not at all put out.

 

“You’re wearing a white shirt,” Snape noted eventually.

 

Harry shrugged. “Yeah. So? It’s a warm day, and it’s linen and cool and breezy.”

 

“And _white,_ except for where you’ve spilled curry on it,” the man retorted.

 

“Whoops.”

 

“Dressing for the occasion, Mr. Potter, entails thinking ahead—not an oft-used weapon in your arsenal of skills, I know—and anticipating the situation you and your outfit will find yourselves in.”

 

“Good lesson,” said Harry with a grin. “Now, back to the bit about how you like me.”

 

Snape sniffed. “You are incorrigible.”

 

Harry continued to grin. “I noticed you didn’t deny it.”

 

“Absolutely incorrigible.”

 

OoOoOoOoO

 

“If I’m paying, I get to choose where we go.”

 

“You have hideous taste in everything,” Snape complained.

 

“Even men?”

 

“Well…perhaps I’m having a little influence in your ability to make intelligent choices.”

 

“I’ll say! Here, there’s a festival of some kind going on nearby. What do you say we stop by and have some fun?”

 

“Among Muggles?”

 

“They outnumber us a zillion to one. I think you’re going to have to get used to them.”

 

“Not in my recreation time!”

 

Harry dragged him along anyway. Snape detested everything, except for the pink faerie floss. Harry desperately wanted to taunt him about that, but felt that discretion was the better part of valour.

 

At the end of the afternoon, Snape looked at him and cleared his throat. “I’ve been meaning to tell you, Mr. Potter, that I think I’ve dispensed as much knowledge on the subject of fashion as I possibly can. You’ve still not grasped what to wear when, but I feel I’m fighting a losing battle on that front, and it’s best to surrender before I go mad. I…think this will be the last of our appointments.”

 

Harry gaped. Give up spending time with Snape? Give up the snark, the sparks, the snazzy outfits? He had to do something! “Er, one last wardrobe check before you give me my wings?” he suggested. “All you have to do is drop by my place next Saturday and have a look in the wardrobe. That’s all I ask!”

 

Snape sighed. “Very well. I don’t suppose it would kill me.”

 

“Great!” Harry replied with relief. Inside, he worried. One last chance to make the man look at him as a prospective lover. He’d have to give it his all.

 

OoOoOoOoO

 

“Mr. Potter?”

 

“Up here,” Harry called nervously. He licked his lips and tried not to move, so as not to spoil his outfit.

 

Snape stopped in the bedroom doorway, flabbergasted. “You—you’re—”

 

Harry raised his eyebrow, à la Snape, and said seriously. “You _said_ that if I wanted colour, I should go for pink. And…it was made to fit.”

 

“That much is perfectly clear. How on earth did you wrap your entire body in a casing of faerie floss? And _why_?”

 

“Magic. And…er…because you really liked eating the faerie floss at the festival, and I thought I might entice you to have some more…with a rather special filling, of course.”

 

Snape sat on the bed beside Harry. He seemed to be trying not to smile. “Only you,” he eventually said.

 

“Is that an ‘ew, you disgust me, you tooth-rotting villain’ only you, or is that a ‘come here and let me devour you, you confectionary genius,’ only you?” Harry questioned with a timid grin.

 

Snape did laugh. “Of all the trouble you’ve caused me over the years, rotting teeth are the least of my worries.” He leaned forward and licked Harry’s collarbone, watching the sugary swirls melt away beneath his mouth—like magic.

 

He really did like faerie floss.

 

By the time he’d eaten it all, Harry liked faerie floss, too…even if he wasn’t eating it.

 

Snape licked his way down Harry’s sweet body. “Time for the creamy centre?” he questioned. Harry merely moaned.

 

When they’d finished, the man sat back, licking his lips in satisfaction. Then he pointed down at the bed, which was a sticky mess. “What did I tell you about choosing what you wear based on where you go?”

 

Harry, limp and sated, pushed him back on the bed, undoing Snape’s clothes, ready for his own treat. “Hey, I followed the advice about choosing what you wear based on what you’re planning to do.” He ran a wet, sinful tongue down Snape’s body, relishing the man’s involuntary twitch.

 

“Oh, gods,” that dulcet voice sighed. Harry beamed. The man moaned again. "I think I've been a good influence on you."  
  
"Oh, good. Next you get to teach me how to storm and rage and have temper tantrums."  
  
 “You already know how to do that," Snape grunted. "I think we're just lucky I managed to impress upon you the importance of dressing for the occasion.”


End file.
